


In darkness lies freedom

by Jarakrisafis



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Plug and Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 22:59:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from the tf kinkmeme: <i>FirstAid chained to a berth, temporarily blinded or blindfolded while someone takes advantage of the pretty little medic.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	In darkness lies freedom

Ratchet's chuckle has me glancing up from my datapad and I can't suppress the urge to reset my optical array at the sight. But no, Blades is still leaning against the older medic, whatever he has said clearly providing amusement. Blades untangles himself from his one sided hug and dances away as Ratchet makes a half sparked swipe at his helm before he dodges out the door with a quick wave in my direction.

“What was that about?” Ratchet has often likened me to an Earth feline, something about a human saying; 'curiosity killed the cat', but I really can't help it this time. All my gestalt come to me when they need anything, and I want to know what Blades could possibly have need of to ask Ratchet and not myself.

“I'm sure you'll find out eventually” Ratchet smirks at me, a full blown: 'just you wait, you're really in for it now' smirk. The one that usually only comes out when the medbay has been quiet for a while, when the lack of action starts to grate and the suspense of waiting for the next attack and inevitable wounded brings out his more devilish side.

No matter how much I beg he remains silent and I give him my best 'upset young medic don't you feel bad for making me feel like this' look as I leave. It only makes him laugh again as he waves me out.

I slink into the Protectobot quarters, my optics already scanning for Blades as I look around the room, half expecting him to be hiding, he had the air of a mech on a mission, and knowing Blades it isn't a totally legal and not about to get us all into trouble mission.

But he is sprawled on one of our oversized couches, datapad in his hands. He rights himself to make space for me and I slump down beside him, my optics straying to the pad, but it is only his patrol report. He lifts one arm and I snuggle into his side as he finishes what he is writing. I can wait until he's finished to quell my curiosity about whatever he was trying and if I reading him right, succeeding to sweet-talk Ratchet into.

He puts the pad into his subspace and I straighten up, his fingers brush over my helm as I move and the pressure and thunk of a magnet connecting is the only warning I have that he has just attached something to my helm.

The what is easy to determine as my optics blink offline and I am plunged into darkness. I cycle through my optical input settings but they are all offline, even my medical scanning has been disabled. The how is suddenly blindingly, I almost chuckle at my own pun, obvious as optical dampeners can only be obtained from the medbay.

The why is a little harder to guess as he stops me from reaching up to detach it.

“Ah ah. Leave it alone.” I am half tempted to ignore his request, but his side of the gestalt link is open and I can sense only a strange anticipation and a calm reassurance from him. Besides, we are kin, he wouldn't do anything to harm me.

“You trust me?” Blades asks.

Of course I do, what kind of a question is that?

I nod and follow the tug to my feet, letting him lead me as I realise just how much we rely on our vision, even in a room as familiar as this I have no idea where we are heading, we could be going towards any of our berthrooms. But we don't go far and I am confused as Blades puts a hand against my chest, his quiet 'wait here' making me nervous as he pulls away. I can still hear him though, gathering something and hauling it over to me.

“Shhhhh. Relax” But I am relaxed, is my first thought as Blades returns, one hand gently stroking the plating above my spark and I realise I am venting hard, my spark fluttering in an uneven rhythm.

“I'm fine.” And I am, really. My internal scans are coming back clean. According to my processor everything is operating at above peak efficiency, my other senses straining to make up for the lack of visual input. I can sense the push at my mind, to ascertain if I am telling the truth and I send back my own emotions, letting him see for himself.

“Will you trust me to try something?” Blades voice is more serious than it normally is and I tilt my helm. “All you need to do is tell me to stop and I will.” He presses something into my hands and it takes me a moment to work out what it is.

'He can't be serious', is my first reaction, followed by the realisation that he is, even his usually restless EM field is calm, waiting for my answer.

“Yes.” I can't help the slight waver in my voice

“You're not saying that because you think it's what I want?”

I shake my helm, my voice more confident this time. “I trust you.”

“Good.” Without my audial unit dialled up I wouldn't have heard him, and then he bends down, replacing the short length of chain in whatever he went to fetch and drawing out something else.

Cold metal links settle over one shoulder, then the other and the click of a lock has me reaching a hand to my neck, tracing the makeshift collar and the lock now settled against my throat and then down, two separate lengths of chain running to the floor.

“Before you ask, I have the bolt cutters right here.” I let my engine rev slightly in indignation, I wasn't worried about that. Well, not really.

I stand still as he pushes my hands away, picking up one of the chains and running a finger across my shoulder, teasing at one of my transformation seams until I relax and loosen the armour, allowing him access, I don't expect him to thread the chain under my armour before moving to do the same on the other side.

I let him work, the rattle of chains loud in the room as he pulls them tight, enough that I can feel them brushing directly against my sensor net when I shift but not hindering my movement. It is almost hypnotic, letting him work, my steady venting loud alongside the heavier ventilations from Blades as he moves and the jingle of chain. I relax, keeping track of the pattern as he works.

What seemed to be random choices of armour to use to anchor the chains is starting to feel less random than when he started. I have no idea where he learnt to do this but it is clear he knows what he is doing, nothing has gone through the joints or anywhere else vital, but plenty in spots with a high concentration of sensor clusters. I can feel his amusement as he loops the chain around the top of my thighs and then starts working his way back up my frame, overlapping and entwining the pattern until he reaches my throat, another lock securing the ends.

Done.” I can feel his optics on me and that thought makes my spark stutter for a nanosecond as he traces over his work with his hands, gently tugging at a couple of lengths of chain, the press of bare metal against my sensors sending a burst of heat through my sensor net as he circles round my frame.

“Head to a berth.” A hand against my back guides me in the right direction, even so my steps are slower than normal as I can't over-ride the instinctive coded response that warns me something might be in the way. And even slower when I realise that moving is a challenge in itself. By the time we make it to a berth my fans are running at full tilt, hot air gusting out of my vents as I settle into a comfortable position.

Blades purrs as he carefully pushes my hands above my helm, the now familiar touch of metal, a cool band pressing against my armour where his warm hand was moments ago and the quiet snick of a lock closing meeting my audios. My spark flutters as I automatically pull at the restraint, the jingle of a chain audible as I realise that I am slowly loosing what little freedom I still have.

I think I should be panicking a little more than I am, but it seems so natural to relax as he closes the locks around my wrists and ankles, my processor shutting down threads that are unnecessary, leaving my mind clearer than it has been in a while. Even my harsh venting is settling, smoothing into a steady cycle.

And then he is on the berth, the mesh depressing either side of my hips, I squirm, each movement dragging metal across sensors and I arch my chassis, wanting more, pressing upwards as much as I am able, I can feel the warm ventilations across my armour, but he holds himself out of reach. A whine escapes my vocaliser before I mute it.

This is... torture, no matter how I shift it is not enough, leaving me wanting more, yet he won't move. I know he is just watching me squirm. I can feel him in our gestalt bond, feel his amusement at seeing me helpless, feel how much he is enjoying having me completely at his mercy.

That should be terrifying. Should be. Instead it is... safe. I can let him do what he wants and he will take care of me. There is something entirely too seductive about simply letting him take control. At not having to worry about whether I'm doing it right.

“Please.” I don't know exactly what I'm asking for, however it works as there is suddenly hands and fingers running over armour, so very gentle but that means nothing with my sensors ramped up to adjust for the lack of vision. Each touch feels heavy, more... real.

I don't think I've ever felt like this before. Floating. Yet grounded. Almost like my processor isn't connected to my frame. The fire racing around my chassis as static washes over my sensory net is distant, like it is happening to another bot and I am seeing the memory files.

I don't know when I opened my interface ports. I don't even know if it was myself that triggered it or whether it was him. Not that it matters, it is just another sensation to add to the list.

The slight pressure against my port before his connector makes contact makes me twitch, and then our link widens. The gestalt bond which is normally muted when we are not combined flares up, merging the outer edges of our processors without any need to spend time lowering firewalls, it is instinctive, automatic. An echo of his hunger spirals through the link, mingling with my thoughts, my emotions until I don't know whether this need is his or my own.

But the voice in my audial unit is all Blades: telling me how good I am, how hot I am, how he's been waiting to try this for so long. His words blur together into a deep rumble of sound that consumes me as I nod, vocal agreement impossible as errors flash across my HUD, static escaping in an incomprehensible stream as data passes between us, rebounding and growing exponentially until I can feel the charge crawling along the cable connecting us.

Pain flashes across my processor as claws dig into my hips, curling around the armour seams as he strains to hold himself up rather than collapse onto my frame as our charge builds.

I dismiss the warnings, they aren't important.

There is only the sense of freedom, the lightness of my frame, of senses set so high they are recording everything and nothing.

Until Blades' shudders, static pouring off his frame, dancing across the distance to my armour, sliding along the chains as it searches for a route to the ground and every sensor lights up in a wave of static pleasure that tips me into my own overload.

It takes a moment for things to come into focus, the light bright against my optics as Blades removes the optical inhibitor and unchains my wrists and ankles.

“I'm going to get some energon, you coming?” Blades asks as he stretches, joints clicking and whirring before he makes for the door and a quick system check shows that isn't a bad plan, I've burnt off quite a bit of fuel too.

“Sure.” I say as I push myself off the berth. I don't get more than a few steps before I realise something important. “Blades?” I poke my helm out of his berth room, to see him waiting for me near the entrance to the Protectobot common room. “Blades, aren't you forgetting something?”

He holds up a keycard that I can only assume is for the lock at my throat as his optics track up and down my frame before he smirks, “Nope. Everything looks good to me.”


End file.
